26. The enemy enters Paris¶
Core Argument¶
Here, the narrative thrust of the chapter is the catastrophic failure of the Commune’s leadership in the hours immediately preceding and following the Versaillese entry into Paris on 21 May 1871. The chapter does not merely recount the military breach; it anatomises the political and organisational paralysis that made it possible. The core argument is that the Commune was not conquered by superior force alone, but was fatally undermined from within by its own incompetence, romanticism, and internecine squabbling.
The key claim is that the defence of Paris was criminally neglected during the seven weeks of the siege. The chapter provides damning specifics: only a handful of barricades and redoubts were constructed, the Mont-Parnasse Station and the Buttes Montmartre were left unfortified, and at the Tuileries a dozen navvies dug a useless trench. The Committee of Public Safety could not find workmen, yet 1,500 idlers sat in the Prince-Eugene Barracks and 100,000 sedentary guards were on the payroll. The Council occupied itself with “details, with trifles” and “romantic proclamations,” while the Central Committee schemed for power it could not wield. The chapter contrasts this paralysis with the decisive action of the enemy: Thiers, MacMahon, and Admiral Pothuan at Mont-Valérien immediately set all divisions in motion upon receiving word of the breach.
The historical context is the final act of the Paris Commune. The chapter draws on the preceding weeks of bombardment and attrition, noting that the Commune had already lost 4,000 killed or wounded and 3,500 prisoners. The Versaillese had established breach batteries on 20 May, and the gates were deserted. The chapter’s most damning evidence is the conduct of the Commune’s leadership when the news finally arrived. Dombrowski’s despatch announcing the entry was met at the Council with a “silence of anguish” that quickly dissolved into complacency. Billioray’s assurance that the Committee “watches” was accepted; the Council acquitted Cluseret of a ridiculous impeachment, then dissolved into groups, wasted time in “small-talk,” and adjourned without demanding a permanent session. The chapter notes bitterly: “Thus the Council of the Commune disappeared from history and the Hôtel-de-Ville at the moment of supreme danger.”
The polemic is directed squarely at the Commune’s own leadership. The chapter excoriates the “romanticists” who substituted faith in Dombrowski and the “immortality of the cause” for concrete action. It attacks the War Office under Delescluze, who accepted a reassuring report without corroboration and posted an incredible despatch denying the entry. The chapter also targets the conspirators who boasted of dismantling the ramparts, though it concedes the bombardment might explain the dereliction. The entry itself is described as inglorious: not a heroic assault, but a creeping infiltration through abandoned gates, signalled by an amateur spy, Ducatel, waving a white handkerchief. The chapter ends with a devastating image: Paris asleep, unaware that the Versaillese were slaughtering within its walls, while the theatres were crowded and the boulevards “sparkling with life and gaiety.”